


Overlooking the Lake

by neveralarch



Series: Banners from the Turrets/The Servant Has No Such Ambition [9]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 14:13:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18390032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: When they won Cybertron, there would be a house.Megatron has a fantasy, about life after the war.





	Overlooking the Lake

**Author's Note:**

> More of the Decepticon Rung AU, set some time after [Steps to Success](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18182612). This fic was almost entirely plotted out in discord with [DesdemonaKaylose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesdemonaKaylose/pseuds/DesdemonaKaylose) a couple weeks ago. Thanks for all the conversation and inspiration!
> 
> This fic contains robot sex (sticky) and a lot of general emotional fraughtness. Please let me know if you need details.

Sometimes, when it all became too overwhelming, when victory seemed an impossible task, Megatron let himself drift into the fantasy of what he knew would never be.

When they won Cybertron, there would be a house. Not near any city, nor any military camp. An isolated house, built into a cliff, overlooking a mercury lake. Megatron would sit on the deck writing frivolous prose and watching the unfiltered sun glimmer on the gentle waves. Rung would be on the other side of the house, tending to the rambling crystal garden that spilled down the rolling hillside. They'd do the same thing every day, with no memos or five-cycle plans. No enemies to defeat. Happy together in their obsolescence.

Megatron would gradually fall into a doze, his stylus dangling from his fingers and his datapad forgotten in his lap. The chill of dusk would wake him in the evening, as it would every evening. He would shake the stiffness from his limbs and walk down into the gardens to find Rung and bring him home for their energon.

And Megatron would be at peace, knowing—

Someone banged on the table, and the noise dragged Megatron back into reality. He focused his optics on the argument that had apparently grown from the interminable of ethics in science debate he'd decided to ignore. Starscream had his nullrays leveled at Shockwave's optic, while Rung rose out of his chair, both hands slapping against the table again as he fought to be heard. Soundwave was creeping behind Starscream, poised to bind Starscream's arms and pin him before the wretch could actually commit murder.

Megatron leant back in his seat, one hand coming up to rub at the bridge of his nose and cover his optics. He could hear the soft lapping of the mercury waves, taunting him with their unreachable distance.

He'd _finally_ be at peace, when he knew that he was no longer needed.

\---

Rung had taken his glasses off, and his expression was both open and pained. Megatron had known this would be a mistake.

"It's a ridiculous fantasy." Megatron drew Rung into his lap, hoping he could distract him.

"It's not." Rung put his glasses back on as he sat, locking his optics away. "It's just—you could end the war _now_. The new Prime—"

"I'm not having this discussion," said Megatron. "You asked me what I was thinking about, not whether I wanted to debate surrender."

"It wouldn't be—" began Rung, but he caught himself and shut his mouth. It took a few more moments for Rung to master himself entirely, moments Megatron spent skimming through the endless administrative nonsense that always filled his datapads. He was technically on duty, even if Rung had decided to interrupt Megatron's shift by coming into Megatron's office and asking why he'd been so distracted during the meeting. Megatron should have come up with a better answer. Something seductive. Foolish to think that Rung would enjoy hearing about Megatron's idle daydreams.

Megatron was halfway through a report from Deadlock's strike team when Rung finally shifted in his lap again, signaling that he was ready to talk.

"Tell me about the garden," said Rung.

Megatron looked down at Rung suspiciously, but there wasn't any mockery in Rung's face. Just the tight lines of exasperation in the corners of his mouth that Megatron was growing used to seeing. 

"It would be beautiful." Megatron stroked circles on Rung's hip, willing Rung to see it with him. "Not like the tame fussy gardens of Praxus or Iacon. The crystals would grow wild and tall, vying with each other for the most ambitious structure. Encouraged by your faithful care."

"Hmm." Rung put his hand over Megatron's, pressing Megatron's fingers against a seam in his plating. "I don't have a crystal thumb. One of the reasons I prefer models, they won't die when you neglect them."

Megatron lifted Rung's hand and kissed his knuckles. "Then I can garden, and you can play in your workshop. When your hands are stiff from piecing your toys together, you can push yourself away from the table and go out into the quiet evening. Wander among the crystals until you find me napping with my back leant against a half-grown amethyst and my helm resting on my chest. You'll rouse me, and tease me about a hard orn's work, and we'll go inside for evening energon."

"You've been thinking about this a long time, haven't you?" The lines of Rung's mouth eased as he smiled. "I get a workshop?"

"You'll get whatever you want," said Megatron, and drew the tips of Rung's fingers into his mouth.

\---

Rung was working on something new. He'd finished his model of the Nemesis a few orns ago, and he was glad to be done with it. Megatron had watched him build it a little too intently, his optics brightening the same way they would when watching a distant battle unfold on a viewscreen. Rung considered returning his hobby to his quarters after that, instead of the makeshift worktable in Megatron's office. But Megatron made a point of telling Rung how much he enjoyed seeing Rung create, and Rung wasn't strong enough to deny the pleasure of recognition.

He felt weak in so many ways, around Megatron. Rung bit his lip and returned his attention to the new model, trying to lose himself in careful, repetitive motions.

Rung thought it was going well, though he'd never built a house before. He used tweezers and a miniature soldering iron to place the tiling in the kitchen, carefully stroking in the soft aluminum grout.

Megatron sat at his desk, scribbling something in his datapad. Rung took a moment to flex the joints of his fingers and watch Megatron write, trying to decipher what Megatron was working on from Megatron's expression. 

Megatron wrinkled his nose and pursed his lips, writing a line and then erasing it. Poetry, then. Megatron always looked so sure when he wrote his speeches, but poetry still reduced him to uncertainty. Would Rung be allowed to read the composition this time? Sometimes Megatron would let him, if Rung promised to enjoy rather than analyze it.

"Something wrong?" murmured Megatron, after a few more kliks.

"Just enjoying the view," said Rung. "What are you working on?"

"Drivel." Megatron pushed the datapad away, rising from his chair with a groan. "Let me see what you've done."

Rung leant back as Megatron approached the worktable, so Megatron could have an unobstructed view of the little roofless house. Most of the rooms were bare metal still, but the berthroom and lounge were more or less complete. The kitchen was almost complete, with its steel counters and tiny energon tap. The deck was built, overlooking its imaginary mercury lake, but Rung still needed to paint and seal the tiny titanium planks.

He'd do the crystal garden last, with real seed crystals that would grow until they forgot to feed them. Swindle had promised that he'd deliver authentic Tarnish crystals, hardy and resilient even when neglected. _Anything for the boss' main squeeze_. Rung hated it when Swindle did him favors.

"Is it what you were imagining?" asked Rung.

Megatron optics cycled a few times, like he was repeatedly zooming them in and then out again. "No," he said at last. "It's better."

Had Megatron ever lived in a real house? He'd told Rung about the makeshift recharge pallets in the mines, and the energon-stained bunks in the gladiator's barracks. Was there a time between the arena and the war when Megatron had slept in a real berthroom, tended a few small crystals, got his energon from a kitchen rather than a mess?

Rung picked up the soldering iron again. "You should read me your poem. I'm sure it's lovely."

Megatron grunted, leaning closer. His hand dropped to rub against the nape of Rung's neck. "I'm glad you can share in my dream. Even if it won't—"

He was cut off by the door hissing open. "There you are!" called Starscream, too loud for the small office. "I've been looking all over. Soundwave has five strike teams from the front he needs you to address and he says you turned your comm off even though—"

"All right, enough." Megatron's hand caressed Rung's back as he straightened. "I'm on my way."

Starscream stood to one side to allow Megatron out the door first, then lingered as Megatron disappeared down the corridor. Rung ignored him and placed the next piece of tile. Starscream was just doing what he always did when Megatron left his office unattended. Check the walls and furniture for new hidden compartments. Plant listening devices that would be discovered and destroyed in Soundwave's next sweep. Shuffle through loose datapads, looking for something unlocked and compromising.

Rung focused on the grouting. Piece by piece, the floor took shape. Starscream snorted with laughter. 

"Something funny?" Rung didn't look up.

"Megatron's wrote you a sonnet," said Starscream. "Do you want to hear it? It's about your optics, apparently they're very pretty."

"He'll read it to me when it's done."

There was a clatter as Starscream tossed the datapad back onto the desk, and the click-click-click of his thrusters as he came to stand behind Rung. "What's this?"

"A house," said Rung. "A very small one."

"It's a cottage," said Starscream, disdainfully. "A cottage for scraplets."

"Megatron was telling me about his plans after the war." Rung smiled at the house as he finished the last line of grout. "We'll live here, if the war ever does end."

Starscream didn't say anything, which was unusual. When Rung turned to look at him, Starscream was staring at the model with undisguised hate, which was unfortunately all too common. 

"What's wrong?" asked Rung. And then gently, because Starscream always needed the reminder: "Use your words, not your nullrays."

"Nothing's wrong," snapped Starscream.

"You're not allowed to break the model," said Rung. "I'll be very cross if you do."

"Ooh, I'm so scared." Starscream sneered, and Rung fought the urge to place himself between Starscream and his suddenly fragile construction. It never helped to hide things from Starscream, it just pushed Starscream to new more terrible heights of plotting to get around you. Instead Rung put his hands on Starscream's hips and carefully, slowly, eased Starscream away. Starscream let him, shuffling backward, optics still fixed on the model. Rung maneuvered Starscream around the desk and pushed him down into Megatron's massive chair. Starscream's fans were running high, trying and failing to cool his emotional subunits, but his compliance was a good sign. Starscream was much easier to deal with when he _wanted_ to be talked down and reassured. It was the spells of clawing self-hatred that still gave Rung trouble.

Rung knelt, smoothing his hands down Starscream's thighs over and over until Starscream's fans haltingly wound down to something a little less frantic. It was gratifying, how quickly the trappings of dominance soothed Starscream's temper.

"What bothers you about the house?" asked Rung.

"I don't care about the house," said Starscream, still staring at it. At least his optics were half-lidded and hazy now, not so full of hate.

Rung rested his cheek against Starscream's knee. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

"I'm not uncomfortable." Starscream bristled. "You and Megatron can do whatever you want when the war's over."

Ah. "It doesn't have to be just for Megatron and I." Careful not to make any sudden moves, Rung reached up and took off his glasses. He stroked Starscream's thigh until Starscream finally looked down and met his optics.

"There's room for you," said Rung.

Starscream jerked away, his knee banging uncomfortably against Rung's audial. "Don't lie to me."

"I'm not—"

Starscream pulled his legs up, thrusters resting on the edge of the seat, scraping the soft brass cushioning. "There's no landing pad, or runway. No way for me to fly there."

"It's not finished." Rung didn't like the way Starscream's tone was shifting. "I'll build you a runway, I can add—"

"I don't want to be added!" Starscream twisted away entirely, hunching sideways in Megatron's chair. "The berth's not big enough. Megatron would make me sleep on the floor."

"No, he won't." Rung suppressed a sigh. "I'll make a bigger berth."

"I don't even want to live in your stupid fake cottage!" Starscream glared at it again. "You're supposed to have a palace, when you rule Cybertron."

"Oh?" Rung rose up on his knees, trying to find Starscream's optics again. "Who decided that?"

"When I win the war," said Starscream, then hesitated.

"Go on," soothed Rung. "I won't tell Megatron."

Starscream peered around his own legs to give Rung a look of pure disbelief. Apparently he decided it didn't matter anyway, because the next moment he was talking. "When I win the war, I _will_ have a palace. We'll rebuild the old primal palace, with the archways and the murals and the fine mesh curtains. I saw a holovid of it once. There'll be fountains of energon. I'll have a crown."

Rung leant forward and pressed a smile against Starscream's shin. "How do Megatron and I fit into this dream?"

Starscream's optics sharpened and he looked uneasy.

"Go on," repeated Rung. "I won't tell."

"You won't like the answer."

Rung shrugged. "It's not my fantasy."

"Megatron's dead," said Starscream in a rush, as if Rung would be less upset if it happened quickly. "In the fantasy. Usually. He'd have to be dead, if I was in charge."

"Hmm." Rung slowly rubbed his forehead against Starscream's plating. No, he didn't like that. "What about the other times?"

"What?" Starscream uncurled a little more so he could bring the full force of his glare to bear on Rung. "What other times?"

"You said Megatron was usually dead. What about the unusual times?"

Starscream's frame flushed with heat, briefly scalding Rung's forehead where it touched Starscream's shin. 

"I see." Rung leaned back, enjoying Starscream's embarrassment. "You'd reopen the old harem quarters, wouldn't you? Or would you allow Megatron the consort's suite?"

"It's not like that!" shrilled Starscream, scandalized. "It's—you'd—You'd be my companions! Both of you!"

"That sounds relaxing," said Rung, agreeably. "Would we be allowed to go out? Or would we wait for you to visit us, so we could attend you with energon treats and massages?"

"You're making fun of me," said Starscream.

"I'm not," said Rung. "Tell me what it would be like."

"It—" Starscream's wings shivered. "Yeah. Yes. You wouldn't be allowed to go out. You'd sit in your little courtyard with nothing to think about except how you could please me. That's what you'd talk about with Megatron, all day, and when I came to visit in the evenings you'd almost run to meet me, you'd be so excited—"

Starscream shifted, slumping in the chair and spreading his legs again. Rung moved with him, ending up squeezed between Starscream's thighs, his hands on Starscream's warming interface panel.

"Would you wear the crown while you spiked us?" asked Rung.

Starscream whined, high and wordless, and his spike pressurized right into Rung's hand.

\---

Megatron's berth on the command ship wasn't big enough for three, despite Rung's increasingly frequent attempts to make it so. When Rung managed to tempt Starscream into Megatron's berth, it was with much squawking and complaining about who was lying on whose wings until Megatron finally lost his temper and shoved Starscream out again. Worse were the occasions when he arrived at the end of shift to find both Starscream and Rung already in his berth, and no room for Megatron except what he could make for himself. Again with much squawking and shoving that was completely inconducive to restful recharge.

Fortunately Starscream was on shift on the command deck tonight, so there was room for Rung to lie on his side with Megatron tucked snugly against Rung's back. Unfortunately Megatron deeply wanted to be in recharge, which Rung was making impossible by his incessant _thinking_. Megatron could actually hear Rung's processor working, the clicking and pinging from the back of Rung's helm reverberating into Megatron's. 

"What?" groaned Megatron. "What is it?"

"The house," said Rung, sounding far too awake. "Starscream was asking about it."

Was _that_ all. "Your model's beautiful."

"It's a beautiful idea," said Rung. 

"Mhm." Megatron shifted a little, his latest daydream coming back to him. Maybe sharing it would take Rung's processor down a few notches. "I'd have you in that kitchen." Megatron's hand traveled across Rung's chest, down to his hips. "I'd hoist you up to those quaint steel counters, and—"

Rung intercepted Megatron's hand. "What about Starscream?"

"He's on shift."

"No, I mean—in the house. Where does he fit into the house?"

"Starscream wouldn't live in a _cottage_ ," said Megatron, and Rung actually laughed. Megatron pressed his advantage with a kiss to Rung's neck. "He wants a palace. Hasn't he told you?"

Rung laughed again. "I'm sworn to secrecy."

"He can have the palace. He can have the whole government, once we've won. He'll be a better politician than I would."

Rung stilled, trying to turn his head to look at Megatron. Megatron took the opportunity to finally press his hand flat against Rung's interface panel. 

"You'd let him run the government?"

"I wouldn't let him, he'd take it," said Megatron. "I know when I won't be needed. I remade myself for war. I'm too old to remake myself again."

"You're a sparkling," said Rung. "And giving up."

"Never." Megatron stroked his hand over Rung's panel, slow first, then building. "Starscream could come visit us, from time to time. We'd build him a runway at the bottom of the hill, so he'd have to climb his way up to the house through our gardens. After that walk he'd be too tired to be sarcastic. He'd just lie at your feet on the deck, and tell us all about his petty intrigues and rivals until you decided to soothe his overactive ambition module by reminding him how well your spike fits in his mouth."

Rung's panel snapped open, like Megatron had finally found the right combination of touches and words to gain access. Megatron let his spike extend and rocked his hips gently, grinding his spike against Rung's valve.

"Starscream wouldn't sit on the dirty floor," murmured Rung.

"Won't you keep your house clean?" Megatron revved his engine, feeling it thrum through Rung's frame. Megatron reached down to spread the folds of Rung's valve, slipping his spike between them, nestling the head against Rung's node.

"What's your fantasy?" asked Megatron. "Giving Starscream a cushion while he kneels and warms your spike?"

"Hmm?" Rung's valve was dripping lubricant, and Megatron's spike slid through it easily, sparks of pleasure dancing between their arrays.

Megatron kissed Rung's neck again. "Tell me what you'll do after the war. Your impossible dream."

"It's not impossible." Rung leaned back, exposing more of his throat. "We could have it now, if you'd just agree to a ceasefire and talk to—"

"You're deflecting." Megatron shifted his hips back, then forward. The opening of Rung's valve caught and spread around the head of his spike. "Tell me what you want."

Rung didn't say anything. Megatron pulled away, though his spike ached as it left Rung's damp heat. "If you'd rather recharge—"

"I'm _thinking_." Rung squirmed back, trying to recapture Megatron's spike. "I want Starscream to be part of our lives, not just a visitor."

"Yes, yes, you'll feel so sorry for him when he's ruling the galaxy." Megatron stilled Rung with a hand on his hip, holding his spike tantalizingly close to Rung's valve. "Tell me what you want for yourself."

"I—" Rung was actually trembling. Megatron wished he could see his face, but the moment felt too fragile to move. "I want you to be happy."

"For yourself, I said." Megatron lowered his voice to murmur in Rung's audial. "What does _Rung_ want?"

Rung arched, the movement sharp enough to dislodge Megatron's hand and bring their arrays back in contact.

"My spike?" asked Megatron. "You can have that now, Rung. Tell me what you long for, what you know you can't have."

"Stop teasing." Rung's voice was tinged with static.

Megatron did. He pressed his spike into Rung, slowly, feeling Rung's valve ease open as he moved. The angle was awkward, shallow, but Megatron loved the way he could curl around Rung and cover him completely, Rung's helm tucked under Megatron's chin and his heels kicking against Megatron's knees.

"Tell me," crooned Megatron, as he thrust a little deeper. "Tell me, Rung, tell me."

"I don't _know_!" Rung cried out sharply as Megatron rewarded his speech with another hard thrust. "I want to help, I want to be useful, I want to be recognized—"

"You are." Megatron reached down, pulling Rung's thigh up and spreading him. "We need you, Rung, _I_ need you."

"I've never been happier," said Rung, sounding oddly mournful. He must be nearing his overload, feeling the yearning for it sucking at his spark. Megatron always felt triumphant as he neared his release, but mechs were wired in many different ways. He thrust again and again, one hand on Rung's thigh and the other on Rung's throat, willing Rung to feel the pure joy of their coupling.

When Rung overloaded, Megatron could finally hear the ecstasy in his voice. It pulled Megatron's own overload out of him, his spike spilling transfluid deep into Rung's valve. He slumped back to the berth when he was finished, his hands still tight on Rung's plating.

"This is what it will be like in the house," said Megatron. "Every morning. Every night. No responsibilities except what we make for ourselves, on the new Cybertron."

"If there's a Cybertron left when you're finished," mumbled Rung. "Or even an unburnt lake."

"There will be a new Cybertron," Megatron reassured him. "It doesn't matter what happens to the old one. Somewhere, on some planet, there will be a lake. If I survive the war, I'll build us that house."

Rung didn't say anything, after that, and Megatron couldn't hear his processor clicking. His optics were offline. Perhaps he'd overloaded hard enough to force his frame into power-save. Megatron curled around Rung again, pressed one last kiss to the top of Rung's helm.

"I'm glad you're happy," murmured Megatron, just in case Rung could still hear him. "Despite your arguments and your misgivings. I'm glad I can give you what you want."

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, consider sharing it on [Tumblr](http://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/184023105479/overlooking-the-lake-neveralarch-the), [Twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1115053894596530176), or [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/99458.html).


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